Wishes To Cinders
by stranded chess piece
Summary: Short one-shot. My version of a couple of scenes from 'It's The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester'. Limp Sam.


_**warning: **spoilers for 4x07_

_**disclaimer: **I still don't own them_

_Oh wow, this episode was a killer. I loved it to pieces. By the end I was so shattered for both the boys. I've been staying away from spoilers, so I don't know where Kripke is taking the story. I must admit I'm slightly nervous... The gap between them seems to grow wider and wider with each week... :/_

_Anyways, this is limp Sam one-shot #7. It's quite short. My version of two scenes, starting from when Sam fights the demon. A **huge** thanks to everyone who's been reading these~ you guys rock :) Here's to Limp!Sam; may we see more of it in future episodes!_

* * *

Sam hadn't wanted it to come to this.

His outstretched fingers shook, his hand burned. His face contorted involuntarily from the effort of concentrating.

The demon inched closer. Its eyes were malicious, its expression set in defiance.

Sam's neck muscles stiffened. His throat became tight. Pain shot through his skull.

He'd told Dean he wouldn't use his powers. But his demon was frighteningly strong. It had knocked Ruby's knife from his hand, and he'd had no hope of retrieving the weapon. He'd had no other option but to do this.

The demon leaned forwards. It threw all its weight against the power Sam was generating.

Sam's arm felt like it was about to snap. He could barely hold it steady. There was so much pressure behind his eyes; it forced tears into his lashes, and the echo of his heart into his ears. His jaw clamped.

The demon came closer.

He hated going against Dean's wishes. It broke him apart. But he didn't have a choice.

He gritted his teeth. His mind threatened to buckle.

If the demon beat him, it would kill him. Then it would kill Dean.

And the angels would kill every living person in this town.

Sam forced himself to try harder. He could _not_ lose this fight. There was too much at stake; disregarding his own life.

The demon's brow knotted. Its mouth twisted sickeningly. It refused to back down; it was hungry, and powerful.

Sam felt pain lance through his chest. He wasn't breathing properly. His vision blurred around the edges, tunnelling. His collar was damp with hot sweat. He wanted to scream, but clamped his teeth down upon his tongue. His gaze fixed upon his hand.

_This hand_-

Castiel had been hesitant to shake it. Despite the fact that Sam had extended it hopefully at the time, the angel had regarded it like it was poisoned. Even now, in the heat of the fight, Sam's already fractured heart shattered all over again as he remembered the angel's words.

His lips trembled. His throat closed completely. He hated what was inside of him, but he didn't know how to change it.

The demon snarled and pressed closer.

Sam's face was so twisted that the tears from his lashes had nowhere to run; they pooled around his eyes. Blood began to leak from his nose.

He wished that all the blood would flow out of him. He didn't know how to make it clean. He'd tried. He really had. He'd tried desperately to save people, he'd pursued what he'd believed was right. But still, God turned away.

Was Sam so far gone, that even God had written him off?

The demon began to laugh, as if reading his thoughts.

Sam's rage swelled. His knees threatened to give way. He pushed himself even further, pushing past his physical pain and smashing his distracting thoughts to pieces.

He could not lose this fight. He could not let this demon win. Dean might hate him. Dean might be so angry, he might turn away forever; just like God. But Sam had to keep going.

His stomach pitched. By doing this, he was shutting his brother out. He was shutting his brother out, because he loved Dean so much.

He dug his heels into the floor. His brother might abandon him, and angels might smite him. His prayers might remain unanswered; but none of it mattered so long as Dean was alive.

That was the truth.

Sam glared at the demon. The blood from his nose filled the cracks in his lips and traced the line of his jaw. It dripped off his chin.

The demon's steps faltered. Its face became shadowed.

Sam caught its fear, and pressed harder.

Inky smoke began to pour from the bullet wounds in the demon's chest. It stopped its advance. It leaned backwards, its mouth opening. Its eyes flew wide.

Sam spared a moment to pray for the man it had possessed, even if God wasn't listening. In the debris of Sam's heart, he felt sad.

Soon, he expected, he'd be so broken that he'd feel nothing at all.

_Until that day…_

He closed his eyes, preparing to send the demon back to Hell. In a back corner of his mind, he hoped that maybe, through some act of grace, he might be dragged along with it.

* * *

Dean ran. His boots hammered against concrete. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, he just knew that he had to find Sam. Now.

His brother had come down this way, chasing a demon.

Anxiety forced bile up Dean's throat. He swallowed, his eyes pinching against the burning.

_Sammy-_

He hadn't wanted Sam to go off alone. But he hadn't been able to stop him.

_Sam-_

His breaths were chopped and scattered. He gripped a knife in each hand, his knuckles strained against his skin. His heart beat out his brother's name, like a mantra.

_Sam-_

It propelled him forwards.

_Sam-_

He just knew that Sam was going to cross the line. He'd seen it in Sam's eyes, when they'd spoken in the car. Sam wasn't going to rely on Ruby's knife to kill the demon; he'd use his powers. He'd play with fire, again.

_Sam-_

Dean was tired of the hopeless desperation he felt. He wanted to reach out to his brother, but he couldn't. He wished that he could make Sam see things his way, but he couldn't.

Sam wasn't listening, and Dean didn't know what to do.

_Sam-_

He recalled a time when Sam had listened to everything he'd said. Sam had been so trusting, and that trust had shone in his eyes like a light.

Now, that light was gone. Over the years it had faded away. Earlier today, Dean had seen it smothered completely; when Castiel had sliced Sam with words as sharp as knives. Dean had witnessed something he'd hoped never to see.

Sam's remaining slither of hope had dissolved.

_Sam-_

His little brother had been beaten down by an angel.

Dean felt fury spark within his already tight chest. He'd watched the last of Sam's hope _shatter. _He'd watched Sam literally crushed by the very thing that had once inspired him.

_Sam-_

Nothing Dean said would be enough to make it better. He'd tried, but it hadn't worked. Sam seemed to have already given up on everything that had ever meant so much to him.

_Sammy-_

He rounded a corner, his boots skidding as he shifted direction. The passage he'd been travelling down opened up into a gaping room, and he staggered, catching at a wall.

Sam was standing at the far end of the room, his right hand outstretched, his face contorted in pain. Blood poured from his nose, covering his mouth and chin.

The demon swayed before him, slowly crumpling. Smoke poured from its body.

Dean was assaulted by vertigo.

Bile rose to the back of his teeth.

He dropped the knives he was holding. His ears rang. He couldn't speak.

He couldn't move.

He toppled to the side, smashing his shoulder against the wall.

Sam didn't stop. His expression twisted further, determined.

Dean wanted to run and shake his brother. But his feet were planted firm. He couldn't even push Sam's name across his lips. He'd half expected this, but still the scene before him was a kick to the gut.

The demon's knees hit the floor. It began to fall forward.

Sam's hand was shaking. His whole arm was shaking. Veins stood out against his skin.

Dean managed to inch closer.

The demon pitched towards the concrete. A last trail of black smoke left its body. Its flesh blistered.

Sam dropped his arm. He dropped his shoulders. The determination fell from his face and in less than a heartbeat, he looked so damn young. The creases left his forehead, and his chest hitched.

Dean still couldn't speak. Now that Sam's face was clearer, he could see that tears streamed down his sibling's cheeks. They mixed with the blood from Sam's nose, and dripped off his chin.

Sam didn't meet Dean's eyes. He folded over, bending his knees and dropping to the floor.

Dean frantically gathered the unravelling pieces of his sanity and pushed himself away from the wall. Ungracefully, he stumbled across the room.

Sam was bent at the middle, his forehead nearly upon the concrete. Sobs racked his body. The demon's blood pooled beside his head.

Dean's steps slowed. He noticed Ruby's knife lying on the floor, a distance away. He wanted to yell at his brother, to pound him; to be angry.

But he couldn't.

He just… couldn't.

Stiffly, he dropped upon the ground.

Sam didn't look up. His face was curled away. He didn't say anything.

Dean still couldn't find his voice. He reached a shaky hand and let it fall upon his brother's back.

Sam convulsed with tears.

Dean was winded by shock. He hadn't seen Sam cry like this for a very long time.

_Sam-_

A moment passed between them. It drew attention to every inch that separated them; both physically and mentally.

Finally, when Dean was sure that he wouldn't explode, he shifted and clamped a hand around both of Sam's shoulders. He hauled his brother upright.

Sam didn't come willingly, but somehow, awkwardly, he straightened enough for Dean to pull him closer.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them had to.

Dean was fuming, but not necessarily at his brother.

He was angry with both Heaven and Hell for putting them in this situation. He was angry with angels and demons for shattering Sam's hope. Mostly, beyond all else, he was angry with himself for allowing it all to happen.

He closed his eyes.

What cruel twists of fate had brought them here? _Neither_ of them had ever done anything to deserve this.

His mask cracked. It fell to pieces.

This was a game. He was so damn tired of playing it. He and Sam were just game-pieces. They'd never been asked whether they'd wanted this.

Tears began to fall from Dean's eyes. They burned his cheeks, leaving stinging trails upon his flushed skin. They rolled off his chin and into Sam's hair. They were silent, painful, shattering, and heart-wrenching.

Dean tried, but failed, to stop them.

* * *

**_end_**


End file.
